


The Undesired Princess & (You Guessed It!) the Enchanted Bunny: Being the Twelfth Tale of the Coin, the Sword and the Medallion

by LooNEY_DAC



Series: The Sword [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-05 22:10:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10318085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooNEY_DAC/pseuds/LooNEY_DAC





	1. I: An Inventor’s Tale Retold

The wind rose to a near-deafening howl outside, and pitch-blackness enveloped the Garage when the electricity suddenly failed. Just then, a blinding flash of lightning streaked jaggedly across the sky, followed almost immediately by a clap of thunder whose echoes almost drowned out the sound of the incredible downpour outside, the raging gale lashing Uncle Fixit’s house with the already heavy sheets of rain.

Uncle Fixit’s house was in reasonably good shape, considering that the only people who ever dared visit it were a care-taking crew hired by the conservatorship to make monthly inspection trips. I was here for the first time since the Accident, as a kind of reward by Melegrethan for my successes in acting as Protector to Alamanast the Second, but my stay had been so bittersweet thus far.

The weather suited my mood perfectly: it was the worst storm that had hit the area in decades, and thus I was isolated in my Uncle’s house until the elements should decide to release me. But still, sitting in the dark was only good for so long, so I groped around for something, and my hand found a thin cord coming from the ceiling.

When I pulled the cord, there was a familiar soft click, and a small pool of light fell on the bench Uncle Fixit and I had spent so many happy hours at from a dim, single-bulbed lamp that hung from the workshop’s ceiling. The light flickered, and more heavenly pyrotechnics ensued, reminding me of the last time I’d been here with him.

On that visit, he’d told me a number of ghost stories, culminating in the tale of the man who had built the Garage, and how my uncle had met his restless spirit once when he was first living here. I was certain he was making it all up, of course, though I gleefully played along as though I believed every word.

A trip to the Realm had occurred amidst the ghost stories and adventures in inventing, one of the more somber trips I’d made in those days. Again, I shied away from those memories, knowing that indulging in them could only lead to further pain.

A sudden clatter from the corridor outside provided a welcome distraction. What on earth could have made that noise? I rose to investigate, ready to vanquish any intruding rodent or adventurous predator that might have invaded the empty house.

Lights danced in the darkness before me, accompanied by more clanking sounds, and then a series of hums, clicks and whirrs that immediately told me their origin: the Giant Viewer. 

As I made my way through the maze of winding corridors, drawing closer to the gargantuan apparatus, the flashes quickened and changed, the whirring rising in pitch and the clicks speeding up like a teletype gone mad while the distinctive sound of high-voltage arcing grew ever louder.

I turned a corner, and beheld the very image of a mad scientist from a Universal Horror film. He was fiddling with some Big Exotic Machine that looked like it was supposed to suck your brains dry, or maybe get a really good TV signal. At any rate, he didn’t notice me at first.

I felt like I should be pointing a Buck Rogers atomic ray-gun at him, but, lacking one, I made do with a boxing stance, half-expecting a man-sized robot to step out into the room from one of the walls.

“Who are you?” I challenged him. “What are you doing down here, and how did you find this place?”

“I built this place; I used to own this place. Everything you see here is of my design.”

“This place was built by a man long since dead,” I retorted.

“Ah, but you of all people should know that time can be made to shift in weird and wonderful ways, Young Protector.”

As I opened and closed my mouth in surprise, the Big Exotic Machine lit up. Immediately, the misty grayness rose around me that meant that I was being sent to the Realm…

TO BE CONTINUED


	2. II: In Which I Am Indeed the Bunny

I knew it as soon as I emerged from the swirly gray mist-thing-thing-thing: I had become a bunny again. Not only was everything around me huge, but I could also feel how long and fuzzy my ears were, and how the rest of my body had changed. Fortunately, the transformation had been painless this time. But why had it happened at all, and why was I here in the Realm?

The First Protector still hadn’t shown himself to me, despite my ever-so-brief glimpse of him on my last trip. Would we ever speak again? I was about to fall into a rather maudlin and self-pitying reverie on the matter when I heard a sharp and mocking utterance sound in my vicinity.

“Wonderful. I have to bring a fuzzy blob of dead weight along.” The statement was made in a voice that left no doubt as to who had said it, and when I looked in the direction whence it had issued, there she was.

In case you’ve forgotten, Alamanast the Second, like his later namesake, had a daughter named Alamsta, though he also had a male heir, Perethegrast or Perry. The acerbic line she’d just uttered was presumably her way of saying “hi”. My dealings with her had heretofore been limited, but not so limited that I hadn’t been able to get a good handle on what her character was like.

This Alamsta looked very much like my Alamsta, but I would still be able to tell them apart were I blindfolded, or deafened, for that matter (but not both, obviously; you need some indications from your senses in order to do such things). While both were outwardly huffy and spoiled, my Alamsta used it to cover an easily bruised heart, but the Alamsta before me had no such “weakness”, as she would have put it. This Alamsta was rather a fool in that way.

The two of us were in that same old hovel in the Hand-Spread Stop that had been my point of arrival in the Realm so often in my earlier visits. I was perched on the small table near the door, and the Alamsta before me was staring at me with a frown of disdain, disappointment, disapprobation, and any number of other dis- nouns (and probably a few mal- nouns thrown in for good measure). Great. Not only was I a small, fuzzy bunny, but my only visible ally was a girl who’d spent the last half of her life alienating everyone around her.

I only hoped my not-so-visible allies would come to my aid if, no, _when_ I needed them.

Alamsta was clad in clothes that she must have thought looked good on her, but didn’t. Moreover, they were utterly impractical on any level for any purpose but lounging around in pampered inactivity. They wouldn’t survive the first mile of a good hike, and I was getting the feeling that we were in for a long and arduous trek.

Before the silence could stretch out too long, I decided to reply to Alamsta in kind. “Funny; that’s just what I was thinking about you.” I bounded towards the open door in one tremendous hop. “Keep up, slowpoke; we’re burning daylight here.” Hop, hop, hoppity hop.

Somehow, I already knew where we were going, and what my task was, even though I hadn’t been expecting this trip at all. This Alamsta was headed for the Chamber of the Tree to face her Trials, even as I’d witnessed my Alamsta facing hers, and I was not at all optimistic as to the outcome, though I would do whatever a small, fuzzy bunny could to help her through them.

I kept a few feet ahead of Alamsta as she stormed out of the hovel after me…

TO BE CONTINUED


	3. III: The Path I’d Trod Before

I hopped out to the road, looking back every so often to ensure Alamsta was still steaming along behind me, and at the fivefold forking, I took the pinky road, knowing that down its stretches lay our destiny.

The last time I’d gone down the pinky road, my Alamsta had said that none of the people of the Realm had gone down it for over six centuries, and had said that hiring cheap foreign dudes to keep it up wasn’t precisely true, though perhaps closer to the truth than those of the Realm would like to admit. Now I discovered the truth: the Giant and human emissaries from the Realm Above were responsible for keeping the road in good order as part of the treaty between their lands and the Realm Proper.

Be that as it may, the road was in quite good repair, which was why I spotted the writhing mass that blocked it well before we would otherwise have reached it. As we tentatively approached the obstruction, my giant bunny ears meant that I could easily hear the angry chittering that told me that the mass was a huge assemblage of sporks.

Sporks. Why did it have to be sporks? Even the Striped Death Mold would have been more palatable. I was just about to leap into their midst, sacrificing myself to save Alamsta, when a weird and fetidly green fire fell upon the swarm of pseudo-cutlery, though they remained unconsumed by it.

I knew I wouldn’t like what I saw, but I looked back anyway. The sick and evil-looking fire came from Alamsta, who watched her victims fall under her sway with a twisted smile. “This method is certainly more efficacious than the feeble methods you and my fool brother tried in order to turn the sporks to your bidding.”

Some would have given up Alamsta as a lost cause right then and there, but Protectors have to be made of sterner stuff than that. In some weird way, I knew that Alamsta had not gone irretrievably far down the path of Dark Magic; had, in fact, barely dabbled in it so far. I only wished that I knew what I could say or do that could turn her aside from the path she seemed determined to take.

’The tragedy of being a Protector is watching those whom you cannot save from themselves go down their paths to ruination.’

Relief flooded me. The First Protector was speaking to me again, however somberly. “She hasn’t passed redemption.” I wasn’t worried about Alamsta hearing me seemingly talking to myself; she was too occupied with playing the Pied Piper to the sporks. Besides, her opinion of me was enough in the basement that my talking to myself wasn’t likely to lower it any more.

‘But that does not mean that she won’t, and of her own free will, and no matter what efforts you make to turn her aside.’

I looked back at Alamsta, her face still twisted in malevolence as she herded the sporks back into the woods, and knew the First Protector was right. Still, “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”

‘Of course not; just don’t blame yourself when you fail. And should some other Power offer aid in this struggle, don’t accept it, no matter what.’

“What do you mean?”

‘Part of what makes Dark Magic so tempting is that it lies to the user about its source and its results: it makes the user think that they are the source of all the power, and that when they wield the power, they wield it justly, when some other would not.’

“So it panders to the user’s ego. It still sounds like the user is most willingly deceived in that case.”

’So they are, Young Protector. Ego is a fault that not even Protectors can avoid altogether. You must always be on guard against it, lest it lead you into peril.’

The voice fell silent, and I knew it would not speak again. I would have to proceed alone…

TO BE CONTINUED


	4. IV: The Trial of Compassion

The rest of the journey was spent in silence. I don’t know why Alamsta was silent, but I was still contemplating the First Protector’s words to me when we finally reached the archway that led to our destination.

We walked through the arches and into the Chamber of the Tree. The Tree itself dominated the space, but my eyes immediately went to its thick, twisted trunk. The golden plaque was still there, and I knew what message it would bear even before we went over to read it.

On the plaque was indeed written:  
The Trial of Compassion  
The Trial of Honesty  
The Trial of Faith  
ALAMSTA, daughter of ALAMANAST

A deep pseudo-voice like those of the Adjudicator and the First Protector spoke, one that I’d heard before, and speaking the same greeting as before. ‘Greetings, Alamsta, daughter of Alamanast. I am the Assessor. Prepare yourself for Testing.’

Before either of us could say anything, a blue halo engulfed Alamsta. Her eyes glazed over, and she went rigid and unresponsive to the outside world. I knew she was undergoing the First Trial already.

‘We meet again, Young Protector, as was foretold. Shall you repeat your request of yore?’

“Is water wet?” This whole thing might be doomed, but I would still try to hold back the tsunami with my thimble until the bitter end. Such is the Way of the Protectors.

The Assessor’s voice sounded like he/she/it/whatever was choking back laughter. ‘Your request is granted, Young Protector; you shall again join the Postulant in her Trials, as her councillor, but you still cannot alter the outcome by any other means.’

As the illusion formed around me, I heard the Assessor add, ‘We now return to our regularly scheduled programming, already in progress.’

There were no real surprises to come when my vision cleared. I was in that same school gymnasium turned ballroom full of teens swinging to the tunes of the Hi-De-Ho Man, and I was human again, dressed for the occasion, and only a few feet away from where Alamsta stood chatting in a decidedly snooty way with some of the locals, so I joined her. So far all was as it had been for the other Trial I had been witness to, excepting Bunny’s absence, of course.

Soon, I heard the noise that signified the real test was at hand. Behind the decorations and out of view of the partygoers, three hulking brutes were beating the stuffing out of a much smaller boy. In another moment, I was joined by Alamsta, and though I tried to stop her, she stormed over to the bullies, fire flashing from her eyes.

It took Alamsta approximately ten, maybe twelve (if you wanted to stretch it) seconds to take all three bullies down, but she didn’t stop there, despite my attempts to sway her to leniency. No, she kept on hitting them as they lay helpless on the ground, groaning from ever worse wounds she was inflicting with foot and fist. It was not pretty.

Alamsta wouldn’t listen to a word I said to try to get her to stop; she had this awful look of enjoyment on her face as she beat the bullies. In the end, it took the physical intervention of the bullies’ putative victim to pull her away from the three helpless forms lying on the floor. She promptly (and literally) spat on him, called him a few names, and started back to the dance floor.

Well, this trial was well and truly failed. The knowledge gnawed at me, but I beat it back with the hope that the two Trials to come might yet go better.

Far later than I’d expected, the Assessor’s voice announced, ‘On to the next Trial.’ The world swam and changed around us...

TO BE CONTINUED


	5. V: The Trial of Honesty

As the world settled into place around me, the booming pseudo-voice of the Power known as the Assessor echoed in my mind. ‘The Trial of Honesty has begun.’ I looked around.

Alamsta and I were still in the gym, but now it was the school-assembly-cum-Revival-Tent again, with the Head of Discipline, Mr. Bloodsucking-Babykilling-Absolute-Monster-Destroyer-of-Worlds-Ee-Ei-Ee-Ei-Oh, right where I expected him: as the manic preacher spewing about hellfire and brimstone and Di-viiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine Vengeance upon the sinners. We the assembled were the aforementioned sinners, in shielding the Dastardly Culprit who had perpetrated the Horrendous Assault on the three bullies, yet there was still hope for repentance, if only the Guilty would step forward.

As we sang our third hymn and waited for the altar call, I noticed Alamsta was looking more and more smug, though oh so ever so slightly guilty about it, too. The guilt was a good sign: it was a tiny seed of repentance that yet needed to be nurtured into full flower; but what could I say that would help that come about?

The ‘altar call’ was again the true purpose of the assembly. Mr. Oh challenged any who knew Anything, Aaaanything at all about the Heinous Viiiiiiiillainy of this assault to Step Fooooooorward and be Cleansed of their In-iquity, or otherwise go to their Graaaaaaaves an unrepentant sinner, Convicted by their own acts. When the call brought no immediate results, he somehow managed to step his histrionics up a notch.

Instinct took hold of me, telling me that this was the pivotal moment in Alamsta’s Trial, though she herself could not know this. “Do it,” I muttered in her direction as she still hesitated, and Mr. Oh went on and on about the Perils of the Course the culprit had Chosen. “Do it now. Do the right thing, Alamsta, please. Tell the truth.”

Alamsta suddenly laughed, all signs of guilt vanishing from her face, and stepped forward. “You want the truth? I am the one who did this thing.” A shocked gasp arose from the crowd, but Mr. Oh simply looked down at her sternly.

“Are you telling the truth, child?”

“I am, and I shall tell the truth: the whole truth; the truth no one here wants to talk about. The truth is that those three brutally beat Jim Phelps so badly that he’s still in the hospital, one of over a dozen such vicious beatings those three inflicted upon various students here over the past five years; the truth is that no such assembly as this was called after any of those ‘mysterious incidents’, as they were termed then; and the truth is that no one in this whole building, including the teachers, has had the guts to deal out what those three deserve to them, aside from me. So, Mr. Principal and Mr. Oh, shall we discuss my punishment for attempting to avenge five years of unrelenting misery for an entire school?”

“If you had beaten them less severely, that argument might have some merit. You see, with time and wisdom, those three might have come to repentance and an understanding of how their strength was meant to be used—in aid of the weak. Now, they will live their lives depending on the strength of others, as you have utterly broken them.”

Alamsta continued to sneer at Mr Oh as he said this. He might as well have remained silent by her reaction to his speech. So, this Trial had ended in failure, as well.

“Alamsta, your punishment shall be--”

‘--the Final Trial. Let it begin now.’

The illusory echoes of the pseudo-voice I’d only heard in my head had hardly begun to fade when the world dissolved around me once more...

TO BE CONTINUED


	6. VI: The Trial of Faith

I was bound and gagged against one of the tree trunks, in bunny form once more. Great. All we needed were some generic faux natives doing some kind of big dance routine and we’d have a perfect Hollywood version of the Bunny Sacrifice scene.

In front of me, Alamsta faced a magic mirror portraying the Fall of the Realm before a horde of the Scowrers, who somehow managed to look even viler than usual. A Ring of Witchcraft, a magic token of power like the Medallion, but its polar opposite, hung between the mirror and Alamsta.

‘Only you can save your Realm now,’ the sleazy voice oozed from out of the darkness. ‘Take the Ring, and you will have more than enough power to keep them all safe. If you don’t, well, then...’

It had all started innocently enough when the Power known as the Assessor had announced the commencement of the Final Trial. ‘The Trial of Faith begins now.’ Once the Assessor had finished ‘talking’, I had been attacked from every side by invisible assailants, just as had happened before. Never had I wished for the Sword glowing righteously in my hand more. They had again forced my surrender by threatening Alamsta, and like a good little tough guy, I’d folded like a cheap suit.

‘Don’t you see? This is your chance to become more than Alamsta the Overlooked. If you take the Ring, you can show all the men and women who have been laughing at you behind their backs that you are, in fact, greater than they could ever be. Take the Ring and destroy me, and they will finally honor you as you deserve.’

After its last statement, the tempting voice decided it was time to show itself. A ball of smoke that was the same sickly green as Alamsta’s earlier sorcery over the sporks gathered itself into a vaguely draconic form, and out stepped the Wyrm that the Scowrers worshipped. In another second, the form shifted again, settling into the familiar sharp lines and angles of my oldest foe here in the Realm, the Magician.

“Your Protector, helpless bunny that he is, is yet bound. You know that without him to guard it, the Realm is helpless before me.” The Magician moved closer to Alamsta. “Only by taking up the Ring to challenge me can you save your home and your people.” He changed his tack, a slightly mocking note coming into his voice. “Perhaps your line has run its course, and your true reason for eschewing the Ring is that you haven’t strength enough to tame it.”

I tried to tell Alamsta that the Protectors could safeguard the Realm well enough that her father’s line was still around four centuries from now, but I couldn’t speak.

The Magician looked at me for the first time. “But why should you speak, oh Young Protector?” he mocked. “We both know the truth of what I say: you are helpless against me, even as the Realm is helpless before me. But if you should so desire, aid may yet come to you, if you will accept it.”

Ah. Here was the offer the First Protector had warned me of. After a few stutters, I finally managed to reply, “I am the Young Protector. I need no aid but that of the One. With that alone, I shall vanquish the enemies of the Realm, and it shall flourish under my protection.”

“Ah, the One. How has that aid availed you against my power? See, Alamsta,” he said, turning back to her, “the fool still trusts a power that has failed him over the power you see before you.”

“Yes... this power.. I could... I could... I must...” Alamsta took hold of the Ring of Witchcraft...

TO BE CONTINUED


	7. VII: A Witch Arises

An unearthly shriek echoed through the clearing as the dark, malevolent fog that had surrounded Alamsta cleared away, revealing Dark Alamsta, her back to me, but her form, her aura and her raiment all unmistakeable from our prior encounter. I was utterly heartsick, but yet unsurprised. Alamsta had been heading down this path for a very long time, and though I may have delayed her fall, it was almost utterly inevitable.

“Delayed?” the Magician sneered as he slowly faded from view. “You were a great aid in her fall!” Wait, what? “Yes, you, the Young Protector so eager to rid the Realm of its foes—you’ve grown so very zealous since our last encounter. I’d say you’ve become much more the Assassin than the Protector.” And he laughed until he had finally vanished.

So, this was the poison the First Protector had told me of in his letter to me: my increasing hunger for violence in the wake of my tragedy. It was this hunger that had truly sabotaged my efforts to peacefully avert the Scowrers from their course, but after that I had succeeded in tamping it back, though only just.

Dark Alamsta spoke then, giving no indication she’d heard the Magician’s final taunt. “And now,” the familiar harsh voice intoned, “I shall slay the enemies of the Realm, and we shall flourish under my protection!” The sick echo of my earlier boast jolted through me. “Let it begin with the Wyrm’s destruction, that the Scowrers may shrivel away in fear of me!” Though she still faced away from me, I could clearly picture the cruel smile stretching across her face.

In my mind’s eye, I saw Pinocchio look down at his cigar in disgust and toss it aside. That same feeling of revulsion swamped me. Was that--that thing who I was? Everything in me rebelled at the thought. ‘NO. I am NOT the Assassin. I am--the Young Protector!’

With that declaration, a surge of strength flowed into me. A blessed calm filling me, I looked down at my bunny self. Where previously I had been mottled with black and brown streaks and spots, now my pelt was such a pure white that it almost glowed. Boy, they loved their symbolism here in the Realm, didn’t they?

“I cannot permit this,” I announced calmly to Dark Alamsta, my first address to her since her Fall. It felt like I hadn’t spoken in years, but fortunately my voice showed no trace of that.

She snorted derisively, her back still to me. “And how do you imagine you could hope to stop me? You are merely a small, fuzzy bunny, alone and utterly impotent, whereas what am I? I am--ARRGHHH!”

She had finally turned to face me, and just the sight of me was enough to send her into agony, exactly as Bunny had repulsed her before. My calm deepened, as her reaction had given the lie to her characterization of me as ‘impotent’. I had no doubt that soon Dark Alamsta would be Bound.

“It is as it ever was: you and all your evil kind cannot bear the sight of a symbol of purity and innocence, such as a bunny, or a lamb.” At my words, a lamb as spotless as I had become stepped out from behind one of the trees, followed by more bunnies and lambs that spread out until Dark Alamsta was trapped in a ring of purity, a bunny or a lamb looking back at her no matter which way she turned. “And as you see, I was never alone.”

“Hey, dude,” the bunny nearest me said in salutation, setting off a chorus of similar greetings from the assembled wildlife. A warm feeling of fuzzy kinship filled me. These were my people in a way most humans I’d met never had been.

Dark Alamsta screamed again, more in rage than pain, and, as darkness began to cloak her once more, I knew exactly what was up. The thwarted forces of evil gathered themselves for another, final strike against the waiting circle of light…

TO BE CONTINUED


	8. VIII: Victory, Defeat & an Unavoidable Tragedy

When the darkness lifted, Dark Alamsta was gone. “So, how do I go after her?” I asked aloud, and was answered by one of the giant apples hanging overhead falling on my bunny form. Instead of crushing me, though, it made me briefly see double, as though I were in two places at once. When I blinked, though, the Clearing of the Tree faded, leaving me in the place to which Dark Alamsta the Witch had ultimately fled.

I say “ultimately” because I now understood certain events which I already set down, where the fleeing Witch set herself up as head of the Scowrers and led them to sort-of-but-not-really-it’s-a-long-story conquer and occupy the Realm for nearly half a millennium before a much younger me overthrew her with the help of the ‘flu and a ram, after which, the Witch fled again. So that was where I caught up to her.

The Witch was trapped in a circle of sheep and bunnies, my Alamsta’s ram blocking one end of the road and my Alamsta the other. A younger me stood beside Alamsta; a younger me brandishing Bunny, who was very nearly glowing herself. “No!” she screamed. “Not again!” She said more--quite a bit more--but it always came back to a despairing cry of, “Not again!”

“Of course again,” I said. “The circle must complete itself, after all, Alamsta.” I could feel that I was human again, in accord with my memories, and I bore the Sword and the Medallion now. I smiled at the me who I had once been before I continued, “Yes, this circle has been a long time in forming, and it will not be balked.”

“You.” The Witch nearly spat the word, making it as much of a curse as, or more than, any number of profanities could be. She searched for something else to say, but came up empty, and had to satisfy herself with another, “You,” though growled this time.

“Me. And me, as a surprise.” I gestured at the younger me, which startled me/him greatly. “You tried to escape one defeat, only to meet another: one that, for me, has already come about long ago, and is thus utterly fixed. Your time is up; you must come with me.” I began to chant another of the hymns I’d learned long ago in the monastery. The monks there spend a lot of their time singing.

Of course, the Witch struggled mightily against her fate, but it was useless. Despite her gestures, cries and writhing attempts at resistance, the power of the chant slowly sucked Dark Alamsta and me back whence we had come.

The Magician was there, within the circle of the bunnies and sheep, and when he saw Dark Alamsta form next to him, he assumed his Wyrm form.

“This is the form into which I have been bound by them. You can free me and spite them, but it will be your last service to me, and you must do it willingly.”

Dark Alamsta replied, “What must I do?”

“Walk into my mouth.” And the hideous maw opened wide.

“Alamsta!” I cried out. “Don’t. There can yet be forgiveness for you, but death ends all hope of that!”

“What makes you think I want _your_ forgiveness?” she snarled at me. In another instant, she had jumped into the waiting mouth, which swallowed her whole. Then the Wyrm turned back to the Magician, who laughed and vanished.

Great. How was I supposed to explain this to Perry and Alamanast? This would crush them.

‘They already know.’ It was the First Protector again. ’They know, and while they are sad, they will heal. Neither do they blame you, even as you should not blame yourself. I told you this earlier, if you will remember.’

“Such is easier said than done,” I replied sadly, “but I thank you anyway. Is it time for me to return to the Garage?”

My answer was the gray swirling of transit, so I closed my eyes, feeling the tears pour from them as I contemplated this bitter ending. When I opened them again, I was back in the Garage, by the old main doors, now giant glass windows to the outside. They were open, despite usually being shuttered.

It was morning, and the storm had passed, leaving everything green and fresh outside, with the sun bright overhead. Though the storm may have left damage in its wake, here was assurance that all would be well again, and I was not slow to pick up that the message was meant for me as well. “They love their symbolism in the Realm, don’t they?”

THUS ENDS

The Undesired Princess & (You Guessed It!) the Enchanted Bunny

Being the Twelfth Tale of the Coin, the Sword and the Medallion

THE STORY CONTINUES WITH

The Reluctant King

Being the Thirteenth Tale of the Coin, the Sword and the Medallion


End file.
